


Traces of You

by The Hedonistic Angel (englandwouldfalljohn)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 17:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20697215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/The%20Hedonistic%20Angel
Summary: Careful exhalationsFog the window to your heartUnspoken fears you’ll readIn shadows beneath my eyes





	Traces of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaapp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaapp/gifts).

> Based on the prompt, "I always feel lonely, except when I'm with you," from @14kaapp on twitter

“I always feel lonely, except when I’m with you.”

Crowley dragged a numb fingertip across the glass, tracing the fog his words had made on the bookshop’s front window. The adrenaline of saving the earth had worn off some days ago, and Aziraphale had disappeared into the stacks, cataloguing each and every tome of his beloved private Eden. The lights were out this morning, though, allowing Crowley to stare as his leisure. 

It would be warm inside, he knew, even without a fire going in the back corner - that quiet nest of overstuffed armchairs and tea-ringed tables, where a few select patrons were welcome to sit, reading and sighing over the history of humanity’s thoughts. As it were, here on the pavement, the chill was seeping in early this year, swirling around unshaven cheeks, reddening Crowley’s nose to match the rims of his eyes. 

“It’s not as though you need a key...” 

His head whipped around at the voice, that voice, and despite himself his shoulders caved inward in defense of his heart. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but lost in his longing as he was, he failed to school the shadows from his eyes, the lines from his mouth. Aziraphale would read him in an instant, he always could. The pretense of not knowing the contents of Crowley’s dreams was just that - a charade maintained for both their sakes. A protection their simultaneous divorces from The Powers of Heaven and Hell rendered unwarranted now.

“Aziraphale. I was, um, I ju-“

“Join me, won’t you?” he suggested, unlocking the door manually for the sake of the morning passers-by. 

Crowley nodded, his lips continuing to form the shapes of words he hadn’t chosen. A hand fell on his arm as he prepared to cross the threshold, and his eyes fell on it as too many beats of silence passed between them. He breathed deeply through his nose, and met Aziraphale’s eye.

“And Crowley,” he began, as if he’d never stopped speaking - as if theirs were the simplest conversation in the world, “stay.”


End file.
